by Melanie Tays
I show Vander where there are some deep puddles nearby, and we both get more to drink. We try to wait, but we end up sharing the rest of the berries soon after. We should probably get moving soon. Maybe toward the berries is a good option. But neither of us is up for the journey just yet. I don’t think Vander has slept more than a few hours in the last two days, and he looks like he’ll pass out if he tries to walk another step. At least here we have several sources of water and a fire to get us through the frigid night.
“I thought I knew what it was like to go hungry,” Vander says. “I’ve spent my whole life eating only every other meal. But this is something new,” he laments, clutching at his stomach.
“How did you survive?” I can’t help asking. “I mean, it’s not like you can get a double portion at every meal. Even if the Flame doesn’t ration food as closely as they do in the Smoke. After a while, someone would notice.”
“Definitely. We were very quick to offer to return trays for people, just so we could secretly pocket their leftovers. And Mom, Dad, and Lark would save us a bit whenever they could.”
“Is Lark your sister?” I ask, realizing he never told me her name.
He nods. He doesn’t say it, but I can tell he misses his family. They must have loved both Vanders very much to go to so much trouble and risk so much for them. I know my family would have done the same if it were necessary, but I also know that not many others would. I suppose we’re both lucky, in our own ways. They never gave up on us, and I still just can’t bring myself to accept giving up on them—not when they need us so desperately. But what can we do, trapped in this bubble with a broken transmitter? We’ve got no weapons, no supplies.
“You’re sure there’s no gateway anywhere along the perimeter of the Ash?” I say.
“Yeah, I’m sure. I didn’t ride that crazy horse around this whole place for nothing. If there was any sign of a gateway, I would have seen it,” he insists, annoyed.
“Okay, so if we are really trapped out here, then what options do we have?”
Vander doesn’t look like he’s in the mood for this exercise that seems destined to failure from the onset. After all, what options could there be? We’re stuck in the Ash but can’t return to the farm. We could accept our lot and just try to survive on our own—gathering berries and waiting for rain. We could build a little hut out of sticks and get by for who knows how long. But there are two problems with that. Both of us would rather die than abandon the people we care about in The City. And based on the way my leg throbs, starvation is probably not the most immediate threat I face. Honestly, I need real medical attention, soon.
“What resources do we have?” I ask, figuring it’s probably another fruitless question, but I throw it out anyway to feel like I’m really trying.
“Well, we still have this,” Vander says, pulling out the antidote dispenser. “Maybe we can wake up enough people on the farm to have a fighting chance against The City.”
I shake my head. “There are only two doses left,” I remind him. There were six to begin with, according to Eason’s letter. Vander and I each used one, and we used two on Bretton. That leaves enough to free two more people from the Mind Mist.
“That’s not a lot to work with. Who do you think could help us?” he asks, considering the question himself. “Maybe we should go to Ollie and Roe. It’s a risk, but if they actually don’t know what’s really going on, they would have the most power to help fix things,” he says, his words not fully veiling his own doubts.
I think of the way Ollie accepted our excuses so easily when she caught us alone in the dark in her house and the dead look in her eyes as she lashed me in the supply barn. It’s possible that she’s little more than a mindless drone like the rest of them—albeit a special one. I haven’t spent enough time around Roe to really know what I think of him. But if we’re wrong and they do know, or don’t actually care as long as they stay in power, then we might as well have given ourselves up to the angry mob or Traeger Sterling himself. The very real question still remains as to how they ended up in charge in the first place.
“It’s too big of a risk,” I say, and Vander doesn’t argue.
“What do you think happened to Bretton?” I ask. It would be nice to have his help. I also can’t imagine facing Eason and having to tell him that his father died because we didn’t trust him. But that assumes I’ll see Eason again, which at this point is far from certain.
“They probably took him back to the farm with them,” Vander replies.
“What if he’s still out there?” I whisper, as though the volume of my voice has anything to do with the likelihood of the words being true.
He doesn’t answer. What could we do for him, anyway?
I try to think of who we can turn to for help. Who might possibly know how to get back into The City, other than Ollie and Roe? And who would be least likely to harm or betray us once they know the truth?
Not long ago I wasn’t so sure I could trust Vander, but now I have no hesitations about his motives and determination.
“We need to identify who has a clear reason to want the Safe Dome to come down,” I say. “People like you and me. That’s the only way we can trust them.”
“But that doesn’t mean they know anything useful,” Vander counters.
“It’s the only way to be certain they won’t betray us. If we put together everything we know with whatever they know, along with their access to the farm, surely we can figure out a way. What other choice do we have?”
Vander considers this for a moment and then nods assent. “So we go back?”
“We go back.”
Chapter 19
We fall into silence and stare into the hypnotic flames. Deciding to go back is the easy part. Deciding which two people to enlist in our cause—to bet the lives of everyone we hold most dear—takes more thought and consideration. The sun is starting to sink below the horizon. We decide to stay here by the fire and water tonight and leave in the morning.
I thought I understood hunger and could handle it. But I’ve never gone two whole days with nothing more than some dirty water and a handful of berries to eat. I comfort myself with the promise that once we make it back to the farm, we can either get food from one of our newly enlisted allies, or we can steal it in the dark of night. Getting back to the farm unnoticed is our top priority. I try to work through our plans for tomorrow, but every time I try to think about anything other than food, my stomach complains loudly and forces my attention back to its hollow state.
After everything I’ve been through, I can’t help envying anyone in The City right now, because they’ll get fed tonight. Even Kenna, who can’t work and has no credits, has people she can trade with. I doubt her belly is completely empty for too many days in a row, though I won’t pretend she has it good. In fact, the last time I saw her she was salivating over a rat.
“Help me up,” I exclaim, startling Vander with my sudden burst of excitement.
“What is it?” he asks, offering me a hand.
“Rats,” I whisper.
He leaps to his feet, but not for the same reason as me. He thinks I’ve spotted some rodents and am trying to escape, but I haven’t seen one since this morning. Still, I know they must be out here. And if I can find one or two, we won’t go to bed hungry tonight.
I try to move quietly, to sneak up on the vermin. The effort is hindered by my injured leg, but the wet ground helps to mute my steps. I know the places that their kind hides, burrowed beneath rocks and hidden in the shadows.
Soon, I spot two beady eyes peering back at me from under a fallen branch. Slowly, carefully, I approach, forcing myself to ignore my throbbing leg as each step brings me closer to a meal that I will not let escape.
I tiptoe in as close as I possibly can. Then in one burst of movement, I lunge and seize the rat by its filthy, matted fur. I’m not as quick, and my aim’s not as good as usual, and though I get my target, it’s not before the rat has a chance to nip at my h
and. That makes it so much easier and infinitely more satisfying when I bang the beast’s skull into a rock and its squirmy little muscles fall slack.
I return to Vander and the fire, holding out my prize.
“You’re bleeding,” Vander exclaims, alarmed.
“The rat bit me,” I explain, not sure why he’s so anxious about the few little drops of blood running down the back of my hand.
“No—there,” he says, pointing to my injured leg.
I look down to see that my pants, which were mostly washed clean by the rain, are soaked in a new and quickly spreading pool of crimson blood. “Blazes!” I curse. “The wound’s reopened. Can you get me some moss?”
Vander runs to oblige, looking truly concerned. When he returns, I press the fluffy wad to my leg, but I know that this is only a temporary measure. I could bind it up again, but the last time I tied the vine tight enough to staunch the flow of blood, it cut off circulation to the rest of my leg. If I do that much longer, I could risk losing the whole leg. Back home, a doctor would sew up a wound like this to keep it closed, but I don’t have anything even faintly resembling a needle and thread here.
But I have one other option. Granted, it’s not something I’ve ever hoped to endure, but it’s probably the best hope I have right now, especially considering we do have a pretty good fire burning.
“We have to cauterize the wound,” I say.
Vander stares back blankly, not understanding.
“It’s something I’ve seen done in the Smoke. When the Medical Center is low on supplies, or someone doesn’t have the credits to pay for better treatment, the doctors burn the top of the wound to seal it,” I explain. “We need a hot stone.”
“What?” Vander looks horrified, but I know that this is my best hope. In fact, it will likely do something to help quash the growing infection as well.
“Look around for a long, thin rock and put the tip of it in the fire,” I instruct, keeping pressure on the wound to save what blood I have left.
“I’m not going to burn you,” Vander insists.
“Then I’ll do it myself,” I say. “Just find a good rock.” He doesn’t move. “Unless you’re hoping I’ll bleed to death. But I thought we were on the same side now. You promised me I could trust you.”
His eyes lock with mine for one solemn moment, and he seems to accept that this horror is what has to happen. Then he paces around for a few minutes until he finds several rocks. He brings them back, and I choose the one that looks the most promising. It’s as long as my foot and shaped like a triangle, tapering to a short, blunted line at one end.
“Just put the tip in the fire. We need to be able to hold the other end,” I say. He does as I ask. “Now bring me the rat.”
“Maybe that can wait,” he says, doubtful.
“We need to get it cooking,” I counter. “If you don’t want to risk puking your guts up all night, we need to make sure it’s cooked through, and that’s going to take time.”
“But you’re still bleeding. We can wait until after,” Vander assures me, trying to be helpful.
“I need to get it cooking now. Once I cauterize the wound, I might black out for a while,” I say.
A look of shock and fear seizes his face.
“It’s just from the pain, nothing dangerous,” I say. I’ve seen it happen before, and I want to be prepared in case I don’t take it well.
He doesn’t look comforted. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he whispers.
“Dinner is a great idea,” I reply, deliberately misunderstanding his words. “Listen, we have to eat, and I have to not bleed to death, so this is what we’re going to do. That’s just how it is.”
He takes one deep breath, blows it out slowly, and nods. “Okay, what do you need me to do?”
“Find a long, strong, thin stick,” I say, both because we need one, and because I doubt he wants to watch me relieve the rat of its skin.
What I wouldn’t give for a knife right now. If only I’d kept the one that inflicted this wound. One of the rocks Vander brought me is broken on one end, forming an edge like a blunt knife. It’ll have to do. For a few minutes, I forget about holding pressure to my leg and focus on hacking away at the pelt just below the tail until I can work up a nice flap of skin and fur. Then I get a good grip on it, yank hard, and the skin strips off like a tightly fitting suit—maybe even easier.
“How did you learn to do that?” Vander asks, half-amazed, half-horrified. He returned with a handful of sticks for me to choose from before I could complete the deed.
“I saw a homeless lady do it once,” I inform him.
“Homeless?” He’s not familiar with the word. I suppose people like Kenna don’t exist in the Flame. If one of them had been injured the way she was, they would have been fixed up and sent back to work in a few days, I’m sure.
While I whittle the end of one stick so I can skewer the rat, I explain to Vander about the makeshift buildings and the trade economy they’ve built to survive without credits. Then I position the rat meat over the fire and guess at how close it should be. I don’t want the outside to burn before the inside is good and cooked.
“Maybe he found them,” Vander mutters after several minutes of silence.
“Huh?”
“Maybe Van used the tunnels to go to the Smoke and found those people. They could help him survive.”
It might be the first time I’ve seen real hope in his eyes since the transmitter failed to dissolve the Safe Dome. I don’t want to destroy that, so I just say, “Yeah, he’s smart. I’m sure he’ll find them if he hasn’t already.”
The tip of the rock resting in the fire has taken on the faintest hint of a red glow. I know from the time I spent working at the metal recycling center that a glow like that means serious heat. It’s ready, and there’s no sense putting this off.
I’ve got to expose the wound, and I don’t exactly want to strip half-naked, so I work my fingers into the small slice in the fabric made by the injuring blade and pull hard, ripping it wide open.
“Get the rock,” I say. I’m trying to be strong—to be brave for me and for Vander—but my voice still trembles. “And even the end that’s not in the fire is going to be hot, so cover it with some leaves.”
Vander wraps the handle of the rock in several layers before he grasps it. His hands shake as he takes the long, thin stone from the fire and brings it toward me, and I hope he’s not going to drop it on his foot.
“Just put it right on the wound and hold it for…”—I have no idea what the right amount of time is, so I guess and try to sound confident—“ten seconds.”
“I can’t do this,” he whines.
“You have to. Like I said, I might pass out.”
He doesn’t move.
“The stone is cooling down. Hurry, just do it and get it over with,” I beg. Thinking about this isn’t making it any better for either of us.
During the Burning, I would have bet anything that Vander would have loved to jab and burn me. But now he looks like the only reason he’s not sick is because he’s too terrified.
“Do it for Van, so we can both go back and save him,” I whisper.
For a minute, I think he’s going to refuse and abandon me to do this on my own. But then his face hardens into a mask of resolve, and he strides toward me. At the last moment, I put one of the sticks in my mouth, between my teeth. I’m not sure if this will help anything, but I’ve seen the doctors do it for people during extremely painful procedures.
The hot stone makes contact with my flesh, and suddenly everything is searing red color and pain. My entire consciousness is pain—all except the tiniest corner of my mind, which notes that even this is not the worst pain I’ve ever endured. I experienced that on the floor of the Justice Building—inflicted by means of the intercuff—and it’s just one of the myriad reasons why Traeger Sterling must be stopped.
The nauseating scent of burning flesh fills the air. I want to cry out, to scream and ye
ll and writhe. But I lock my muscles and hold perfectly still, knowing that if I twitch so much as a finger, I’ll lose control of myself altogether. I twist the pain into energy, fueling my scorching hatred for Traeger Sterling.
Suddenly, the burning tip of the stone is removed, and one of us does black out, but it’s not me.
Chapter 20
Vander’s not out long, but when he comes to, he’s got a bruise already forming across his right cheek from where his face hit the ground.
“Did it work?” is the first thing he asks, and I have to smile because he sounds like he actually cares.
The scorching pain has started to recede into a manageable, throbbing ache. I inspect the wound and find a black line across the original cut where the edges of the wound have been burned shut. I decide to try a few steps and see what happens. I can’t say it feels good, but I can walk and the wound stays shut, so we’ve accomplished our goal. If I can get back to The City—back to Whyle and Eason—and destroy Traeger Sterling before this wound kills me, that’s all I can really ask for.
I walk to the fire and rotate the rat meat to keep the outside from burning before it’s cooked through. Then I sit next to a pool of water and scoop handfuls of it over the wound. The cooling effect feels so good, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to drag myself away from this spot. After a while, though, the wound starts to feel better, and the cool water feels less like a lifeline. I move back over by the fire to sit with Vander and watch our dinner cook.
The sky grows dark, and the stars twinkle above us before I dare try the rat meat. It’s charred on the outside, but I’d rather have that than risk food poisoning by undercooking it. Rats are notoriously risky meals. But starvation is worse.
It’s not like we have utensils, so we end up just taking turns gnawing bites from the skewered meat. If I were eating in the dining hall, I’m sure I would skip this in favor of chicken or beef, but out here it’s not bad at all.
Neither of us are full when we’ve sucked the last drops of fat from the bones, but we’re stronger and can think about things other than hunger now. We can rest without our stomachs trying to consume us from the inside. Plus, I know I can find more rats tomorrow, so our prospects just improved significantly.